Nightlock Nightmares
by That-Bookish-Ravenclaw
Summary: The rule change meant any two tributes could win, and Marvel and Foxaface were crowned victors, they were sold to the Capitol as prostitutes and several years later District 13 waged war, an won. But after the fighting stopped Marvel has had more and more time alone; and now his nightmares are plagued by a certain redhead. Maybe they're destined to meet again. Marvel/Foxface.


**"Nightlock nightmares"**

The room was stuffy, humid air seemed to just hang in place, disregarding the fan and the open window. In the bed in the centre of the room lay a young man. His skin laced in a fine layer of sweat as he tossed and turned, disturbed by his dreams. His brown hair was plastered to his forehead, his well-muscled arms clenching and releasing and his body thrashed in slow motion, tangling himself in the bed sheets.

Marvel woke with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed, his eyes widening and pupils expanding as he tried to see his room. His hand shot out to the side, brushing the dagger he kept on his bedside table before flicking the switch for his lamp.

A soft glow illuminated the room, sending eerie shadows out on the areas the light couldn't quite touch. The young man looked around, eyes scanning every object. His pulse was starting to slow a little as he reassured himself that he had just been dreaming.

He swung his legs out over the leg, disentangling himself from his damp sheets that clung to his bare skin. He padded across the room and into the en-suite. He poured himself a glass of water before carrying it back to his bed, his hand shaking slightly.

It was just a dream. Just a dream, he told himself several times, slowly sipping the cold water. He leaned against the headboard and sighed. He could now understand what people meant when they said they had "nightmares". His were always the same. He only had two. And he had them night after night, and each time they awoke him.

The first he could understand; it was simple enough. He'd nearly died when the District 12 female had shot an arrow into his neck. Without the very generous and timely help of his sponsors he'd be dead. He could grasp why, most nights, he dreamed of her shooting him in the neck and no help coming.

But the other was a little harder for him to understand. After Seneca had announced that two tributes could win the game, he had been overjoyed. He'd also been scared. His alliance had only consisted of two other tributes, two tributes who were very much in love. Clove and Cato might have tried to hide it; but he'd known very quickly they wouldn't be able to harm each other. So he'd scarpered.

The dream focused on the redheaded girl from District 5. When Marvel had found he she'd been about to take her own life, by knowingly eating Nightlock berries that the idiot boy from 12 had picked, he'd stopped her, pulling her away. In his dream he'd arrived too late. She'd eaten the berries and was lying dead, with purple staining at her lips. No matter how hard Marvel tried to run, his dream always prevented him from getting there in time.

Marvel took another sip of water before delving back into his mind; searching for a reason to want to help the redhead so desperately. They'd worked together after he'd found her, they'd won together; they'd celebrated and been friendly. But nothing more. They were merely acquaintances. The girl, Finch, had been sent to the Capitol to be prostituted, as had he. They'd seen each other many times before the war; he suspected she'd been pulled into some form of command post to direct troops due to her intelligence during the battles.

In the back of the victors' mind he truly hoped she was still alive, for that dream troubled him most severely.

Marvel threw a casual glance at the illuminated clock on the wall. It was nearly 5am, he needed to get up. He started work at 6am, and they had a new boss coming in today. It wouldn't look good if he arrived late. He didn't want to be earmarked as lazy, or unreliable. Especially not while things were being sorted out in the Capitol; punishment and discipline were very variable things at the present moment.

Marvel sighed heavily before pulling himself out of his bed again and moving to the bathroom, not bothering to switch off the lamp as he went. He flicked his shower on and climbed under the jet of cold water without waiting for it to heat up.

His mind drifted listlessly to the awful date he'd been on the previous evening. The girl was lovely, a very pretty and funny young lady; but she had been unbelievably dumb. To make it worse, Marvel thought the dippy-blonde act had purely been an act. Girls acting stupid were something he hated. He'd hated it when Glimmer, his best friend, had used that as her angle in the games; and he found it even worse when girls did it when trying to get a boyfriend.

It was mildly depressing that, even as victor of the last Hunger Games, he was totally unable to get a girl he actually liked.

* * *

The lean brunette managed to slip through the door to his work with a few minutes to spare. Silently chastising himself for dawdling around in the beautiful sunshine that was, for once, shining in District 3. He wasn't sure why he'd picked District 3 to settle in. He just knew he couldn't stay in the Capitol due to the vivid memories of his forced prostitution, District 1 or 5; and after his close alliance with Clove and Cato he'd felt wrong going to District 2.

A stocky blonde appeared at his side, yanking him unceremoniously from his thoughts. "Oh, Marvel, hi mate, I, uh, I forgot to mention when we spoke last, the new boss; you know her, mate. She's that chick you won the games with."

He stared at his co-worker, not sure whether he was more shocked that he'd neglected to tell him that his co-victor would be his boss, or that James had simply referred to her as "that chick you won the games with."

There was a firm cough from the front of the room. "If everyone could sit down, this won't take too long."

There was a mass of shuffling as people pounced on the few chairs in the room; leaving many people standing. Marvel craned his neck to see whether James was telling the truth, but the people in front of him blocked his view.

"Now, I don't think I need to make many changes to what you do here. I'm simply here to tighten things up, make them work more smoothly and to report back about the efficiency of this District. I'm simply going to watch things for a few weeks before making any changes, should they be needed. You're all free to carry on as per usual. However, I do need to speak to the current operations manager here... I believe his name is Marvin?"

There were a few chuckles around the room, before the people parted, dragging "Marvin" forwards.

Marvel's jaw dropped as he stared across the room. The redhead stared straight back at him. A similar look of shock on her face. Finch stood there, in a beautifully tailored suit, a green and gold scarf at her neck and a clipboard in her hands.

"Marvel?" She asked incredulously, taking a few steps towards him.

"Finch?"

They both stared at each other for a few moments before someone in the crowd of people coughed in amusement. Finch pulled herself together and smiled at the group.

"Please, feel free to go back to your jobs. I mustn't keep you." She motioned for them to get to work before turning back to me.

"Finch!" A young manager called Eleanor called from the doorway of her office. "I don't suppose that, considering it's such a lovely day, you would be able to have your meeting with Marvel on the benches outside? I need a bit more time to move everything around in my office... you know, to make room for your desk. I would have done it sooner but _someone_ neglected to tell me." She shot daggers at James. He shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. Eleanor was normally a mild-mannered and insightful person to be around; however, when she was left out of the loop and thus left unprepared she could be incredibly intimidating.

Marvel made a mental note to thank Eleanor for something later. It didn't matter what, he just needed her to know he was grateful for her appearing at the door with that suggestion.

"I don't have an issue with that." Finch said, looking to Marvel for confirmation.

He shook his head. "No, no problem at all."

"Good, let's go. Lead the way, I haven't seen these fabulous benches yet." Finch said, straightening up and gripping her clipboard a little tighter.

Marvel nodded before wordlessly turning around and heading out of the office, down the many sets of staircases, pausing only to make sure she was following him, and leading her to the front of the massive building. To the mound of grass and the park benches which were bathed in sunlight.

Finch sat down quickly, smoothing her skirt and blouse, placing her clipboard down, dropping a pen onto the white paper causing a few ink splatters. "Hello, _Marvin_."

Marvel's face fell. She'd known it was him. Did she not know? She'd said his name when she'd looked at him.

"Uh... Finch, it's me... Marvel..." he said hesitantly.

Finch smirked. "Seriously, Marv? You don't think I'd recognise you... even with that lovely scar." She leaned forward, touching the scar that ran across the young man's face, her fingers tips just touching the jagged line.

Marvel smiled, lifting his hand to catch hers but she moved it away too quickly. "So... why District 3?" He asked, looking across the table at the redhead. She'd barely aged. Her hair was the same style, her skin still perfectly smooth and creamy. Her eyes still darted around and seemed to look straight into his mind, plucking it apart.

Finch smiled and shrugged. "I understand technology. We used it in my District a lot, but I couldn't go back there. I also wanted to see the sky, the trees... grass..." She looked at him for a moment, lost in thought.

He nodded. He understood her perfectly well. It was weird how the nature he'd experienced in the Hunger Games had become such a relaxant.

"So, are you married... girlfriend... kids?" She asked, quickly blushing as Marvel raised an eyebrow in surprise at the sudden, and very personal, question.

"No, no kids, no wife, no girlfriend... I've, uh, been at a bit of a loose end actually."

She smiled sympathetically. She understood.

"I've had dreams about you, actually." He said suddenly. Mortified the moment the words came out of his mouth.

It was her turn to raise an eyebrow and smirk slightly. "Oh, do tell."

"Nightmares, actually." Marvel continued.

Her face fell a little.

"You die." he tried to clarify. "You're about to eat the nightlock and I can see it, I can see you putting it in your mouth. And no matter how loud I scream you don't hear, I can't get to you in time. By the time I reach you, you're dead."

Finch didn't say anything.

"It's a bit depressing, but I have those nightmares every night, actually."

"I dream about you, too." She whispered finally. "In my dream you're with Glimmer, you catch me." She paused. "You kill me."

There was a very awkward silence between the two victors for a few moments. It seemed to drag on and on before Finch finally broke it. "I missed you, actually, Marvel. That's why I'm here..."

Marvel looked into her eyes, smiling. "Really?"

The redhead nodded. "I was offered a new post, I found out that you were here... I, uh, I hoped you'd remember me. I got so used to being around you when we were touring, and when we were in the Capitol doing..." She stopped and squeezed her eyes shut. "So I decided to be posted here."

Wordlessly Marvel held out his hand to her, an open, welcoming gesture of friendship and caring. Finch hesitantly slipped her hand into the boy's much larger grasp.

Marvel grinned and stopped up, pulling the young lady with him. "Finch, do you want to get coffee?"


End file.
